A Marriage of True Minds
by LucyQT
Summary: A strange literary coincidence at Netherfield sets Darcy and Elizabeth on an easier courtship path. But as it turns out, marriage is just the beginning of getting to know one's life partner. What dark secrets is Darcy hiding and will they bring the couple closer together or tear them apart? Canon-compliant. Chapter 1 earlier posted as one-shot ("A Pair of Great Readers").
1. Chapter 1 - A Pair of Great Readers

**PART I - A LITERARY COURTSHIP**

 **Chapter 1 - A Pair of Great Readers**

 _"What think you of books?" said he, smiling.  
_

 _"Books—oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings."  
_

 _"I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."  
_

 _"No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else."_

\- Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

* * *

Elizabeth, seated on the window seat of her room at Netherfield Hall, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her shawl around them more tightly. It was late at night, her candle was burning low and she was freezing, but she refused to retire when she was so close to the end of her book. She was only a few pages from finding out what happened to Emma. Surely she would not marry that coxcomb Frank Churchill!

Elizabeth turned the last page of her chapter and looked in disbelief at the blank page. A few more flips proved that all the remaining pages were blank. _That is it? That cannot be it! The story cannot end like that!_

An examination of the book revealed the answer. The Table of Contents was split into Volumes One and Two. The chapters of her book corresponded to the first volume, so the rest of the story was located in a second volume.

Elizabeth groaned. She hated to be left hanging. Oh well, she reflected, slipping into her by now cold bed and blowing out the candle. She would locate the second volume tomorrow. It would be a good way to pass the remainder of the time until her sister Jane, who had suddenly taken ill on a visit to Netherfield, was well enough for them to depart.

Elizabeth was under no illusions that her own presence was welcome at the Hall. She was here only because she had been worried about Jane and called to see how she was. Bingley, the master of the house and Jane's suitor, had then very kindly invited her to stay to nurse Jane. But his sentiments were not shared by his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who had repeatedly made their disdain for Elizabeth and her family clear. As for Bingley's gentleman guests, Mr. Hurst and the arrogant Darcy, her presence must be a matter of complete indifference, if not an outright irritant.

If Elizabeth had hoped to locate the second volume quickly the next day, she was disappointed. A search of the library where she had found the first volume was fruitless, as was a check of the table in the drawing room where Bingley displayed books for guests. On enquiry to a servant, she was informed that those were the only places that books were kept, so if the book she desired was not there, it was in use by a member of the household - _if_ the master even had the second volume. But Elizabeth was not ready to entertain such a dreadful notion.

She considered the members of Bingley's household. Who was the most likely to have her book? Not Mr. Hurst – he had made his disdain for reading clear. Similarly, Bingley had confessed himself to be an idle fellow, and she did not see this as his reading material. Darcy, she sniffed, probably restricted himself to fashionable men's magazines and treatises on the inherent superiority of the upper classes. That left Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley.

Careful observation of the ladies the next day revealed no sign of the longed-for book. By evening, Elizabeth, despite reluctance to invite further censure from Miss Bingley, was resolved to make a general enquiry of the party gathered. She was spared from speaking, however, when the gentlemen entered the room - and she saw Darcy carrying the exact book she was seeking!

Elizabeth cursed the perverseness of the mischance that had put her darling book into the hands of the disagreeable Mr. Darcy. A month ago, he had refused Bingley's request to dance with Elizabeth at the Meryton assembly on the grounds that she _was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him_. Elizabeth had seen nothing since of the man to change her assessment of his character.

Elizabeth's eyes followed Darcy as he settled himself on a couch not far from her and opened his book. He was about one-third of the way in. She hoped the party would be silent so he could make progress.

"And what are you reading so secretly, sir?" asked Miss Bingley, who was wont to hover around Darcy like a moth to a light. If Elizabeth was in Darcy's position, she would have swatted her long since.

"It is no secret. I am reading a novel," said Darcy without looking up from his book.

"It must be engrossing to capture your attention so completely. What is it about?"

"A rich but ignorant young lady, and all of the mischief she engenders with her matchmaking and meddling." He flipped a page and continued reading determinedly.

"Indeed! That is strange for a gentleman's choice of books, unless you are studying how to avoid such a creature."

"Not at all. I am simply interested in the author's portrayal of character. She writes with a deft hand and her characters are true to life."

Miss Bingley launched into raptures about Darcy's taste, which Darcy bore stoically until Elizabeth spoke up.

"Are you a fast reader, sir?"

"Miss Eliza, I assure you, Mr. Darcy is a _very_ fast reader," said Miss Bingley contemptuously.

"On the contrary, I read rather slowly," said Darcy, looking up at Elizabeth as he answered for himself. "Do you consider quickness in reading to be a virtue, Miss Bennet?"

"Sometimes." _When someone else is waiting for your book_ , she added silently. _  
_  
"That is interesting. I am in the habit of seeing speed as inversely proportional to understanding and enjoyment, and prefer to slow down and savour the words. Those who rush through the text often miss the nuances."

"That may hold if you were referring to a rate of word consumption. But I am speaking of diligence at the pursuit. When I get a hold of a good story, I prefer to adhere to my task until the story is done. Those idle dilettantes who dabble in a story may find they have forgotten the beginning and middle by the time they finally make it to the end."

Darcy's eyebrows lifted a fraction and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Perhaps we should settle the particulars of the purpose and context in which one reads before stooping to veiled insults. When one is reading for information, or on a deadline, then certainly diligence is to be prized. But for recreational reading, such as a fictional work of this type, there is ample opportunity to go back and refresh one's memory after any interruption, and therefore no need to rush."

"Well, _I_ do not wish to be the source of interruption, so I will let you return to your book."

Elizabeth excused herself and left the room on the pretext that Jane needed her. _Slow reader indeed! He was probably saying that on purpose to annoy me_.

The next morning, Elizabeth saw that Darcy had made some progress and looked to be halfway through the book. Observing that the biggest obstacle to his further advancement was Miss Bingley's persistent attentions, she took it upon herself to distract Miss Bingley. Unfortunately, this was not as effective as she hoped, as every time she engaged Miss Bingley in conversation, Darcy would put down his book and join in. How unfortunate that the holder of her beloved book was such an easily distracted reader! Clearly, something more drastic was required. She would have to separate Miss Bingley from Darcy altogether.

Immediately after breakfast, Elizabeth began shadowing Miss Bingley and Darcy, looking for an opportunity to lead Miss Bingley away. But in this, she had underestimated not only Miss Bingley's determination to remain on Darcy's arm, but also Darcy's apparent willingness to suffer her there. Instead of severing the pair, she found herself stuck fast for the greater part of the day as the unhappy member of a threesome.

Finally, towards late afternoon, after she had extricated herself to check on Jane, she found Miss Bingley by herself and enquiring of everybody whether they had seen Darcy. Elizabeth glibly informed Miss Bingley that she had spied Darcy strolling the shrubbery.

Following this efficient dispatch of her obstacle, Elizabeth poked her head into the library, where she suspected Darcy had actually settled. She was happy to be proven right, and happier still to find that he was now two-thirds of the way through his book.

Her step aroused Darcy's attention, however, and he looked up, smiling. "Miss Bennet. We meet again."

"Oh!" _Think fast, Elizabeth_. "I was looking for a book that might interest Jane. This looks good." She grabbed a random book off the shelf. "Well, good-bye."

"Your sister enjoys reading the dictionary?" Darcy said dryly, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Elizabeth looked down at the tome in her hand and blushed. "My mistake. I thought it was a different book." She blushed harder when she realised that "DICTIONARY" was written in large, block capitals on the cover, spine and back.

"There is no need to rush off. I would be very happy to have your further company. Will you not sit down? I wished to ask you more of your views on Thomas Jefferson."

"I do not wish to disturb your reading."

"It is no disturbance. It is a pleasure to converse with a fellow bibliophile who has actually engaged with the text before forming opinions." Darcy indicated a chair.

Elizabeth sighed and sat down. Hopefully, this tête-a-tête would last no more than a few minutes. But alas! Darcy seemed determined to have conversation, so she was forced to sit with him for almost half an hour. Missing Miss Bingley's sycophantic chatter, however, Elizabeth was surprised to find herself almost enjoying the conversation. Darcy was well informed and it turned out that they shared some of the same opinions and could discuss points of differences quite intelligibly, if a little heatedly.

They were interrupted by Miss Bingley, who gave Elizabeth a dirty look on finding her alone with Darcy. Elizabeth immediately excused herself.

"Well! It appears you have made another conquest, Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley. "You have Miss Eliza hankering after you like a green girl. I am sure she sent me into the garden on purpose to steal time alone with you. I hope you will take care and not find yourself entrapped. These Bennets seem most aggressive in their pursuit."

Darcy shrugged and reopened his book. "She is not bothering me. In fact, she seems almost skittish. She tries to bolt every time I speak to her."

"Oh! She is probably tongue-tied to be in the presence of a member of the first circles. Sir William Lucas seems to be the limit of august personages around here."

Darcy was silent, contemplating Elizabeth. He was used to being the object of pursuit, but her methods of going about it were unusual. She was often hanging around him and looking at him, but if anything, discouraged his attempts at interaction. And yet she expressed herself too eloquently for shyness. He had experienced young ladies blowing hot and cold as a ploy to pique his interest, but this species of behaviour seemed of a different order. He was intrigued.

Diverted by his contemplation of the puzzle that was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy got no further in his book by evening. Elizabeth saw this with a glance when he entered the drawing room carrying the book. She stifled her annoyance in the joy of seeing Jane able to join the party at last, and well attended by Bingley. Her ire was renewed, however, when Darcy abandoned his book to join the group around Jane, taking a seat across from Elizabeth. _Really? I could have finished it twice in the time you have had and given it back to you by now_.

The evening ended in music, with Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Elizabeth taking turns playing. Elizabeth would not have been inclined to play in such scornful company, but she was hopeful that music would mean an end to conversation and perhaps a return to reading.

In this she was partly right, for the conversation did cease and Darcy did read for a time. When it was her turn to play, however, she noticed that he set his book aside and fixed his eyes on her.

 _Probably trying to intimidate me into making a mistake._ Her courage rising, she played and sang the quaint Irish air with even more free-spirited abandon than usual. _Go ahead. Despise me if you dare!  
_  
Next morning, Elizabeth surveyed the situation. Jane was better; they should soon be gone. If she gained the book now and read very steadily, she _might_ have time to finish it before she left. But Darcy had proven a disappointingly unmotivated reader since she had launched her campaign to win him reading space.

Elizabeth crossed her arms in frustration, deciding enough was enough. _Thanks, Mr. Darcy. I will never find out what happens to Emma._ She avoided both Miss Bingley and Darcy for the rest of the morning, and when Jane went upstairs to rest, headed outside for fresh air. She was completing her circuit of one of the fields when she spied Darcy again, apparently out for his own walk. She was about to strike off onto a different path when he called her name.

"There you are, Miss Bennet," he said as he approached her. "I was wondering where you had gotten to. I have gotten used to your frequent presence."

Elizabeth blushed. Perhaps she had overdone it. Well, it was time to lay her cards on the table. This was her last chance, after all.

As he fell into step with her, she gathered her words. "Mr. Darcy, it seems you have noticed my attentions towards you over the last few days. You will no doubt be shocked by my unladylike boldness, but as my time grows short, I feel the need to come straight to the point in order to procure what I am after."

Darcy stopped in his tracks and faced her, his eyebrows raised in astonishment, a slow smile spreading over his face. He took a step towards her.

"Yes, Miss Bennet? What can I do for you?"

Elizabeth took a small step back, surprised at his nearness and the scrutiny of his dark eyes. "Over the last few days," she said, craning her neck to look up at him, "I have observed you reading a certain book."

"A book?"

"Yes, _Emma_. It is the second in a two-volume set. The truth is, I finished the first volume my first day here and was very much hoping to read the second volume. I do not wish to interrupt your enjoyment of the book, but I was wondering if you would mind lending it to me, just for a day. I can finish it very quickly and have it back to you."

Darcy reached into his coat, withdrew the volume in question, and held it out to her. "Is this the book you mean?"

"Oh! Yes, that is it!" Elizabeth took the book from Darcy, her face lighting with joy. She smiled up at him warmly. "Mr. Darcy, that is most generous of you! I promise I will read it very quickly."

He smiled back at her as if waiting for her to continue speaking. When she only turned her attention to the book, his brow furrowed. "That is it?"

"What do you mean?" said Elizabeth, now looking through her book.

"That is all you require?"

"I am afraid I do not take your meaning," she said, looking up in confusion. "What else is there?"

"Your attentions for the last few days - following me around, separating me from Miss Bingley. That was in pursuit of the book?"

"Oh!" Elizabeth blushed. "I am so sorry. I know I have been a nuisance and a pest. I can say nothing in my defence, but in recompense, I give you full leave to mock me as much as you wish to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. My family often makes fun of me for being so single-minded once I have started a new story."

Darcy was quiet and subdued as they returned to the house, but Elizabeth did not notice. She was thinking of her book.

Steady to her purpose, Elizabeth's attention was fixed on her book for the remainder of the day. She was amiable but not encouraging when Darcy or Bingley attempted to engage her in conversation. She did not even bother to respond to Miss Bingley's pointed whispers about frumpy ladies who read too much and neglected their appearance. Jane, well versed in her sister's predilections, simply smiled indulgently.

In the late afternoon, Darcy found her in the library, still reading. Whatever thoughts he had that her previous attentions had been directed to influencing his felicity, her behaviour of the last few hours provided very material weight in crushing them. There he sat, not six feet from her, pretending to read his own book, and she had not paid him the slightest heed despite his multiple attempts to catch her eye.

Darcy had spent the better part of the last few days reminding himself of Elizabeth's low family connexion, non-existent fortune and the need not to raise her hopes of him. But perversely, all of his cherished misgivings had evaporated in the face of her indifference. He found himself feeling strangely unsettled, frustrated, angry, hurt, and desperate for a crumb of her regard.

Elizabeth was ignorant of the feelings roiling in Darcy's breast. She was also unaware that she made a very pretty picture with the late afternoon sun pooling around her, her feet tucked under, a slender finger twirling a curl while she smiled and chuckled to herself.

Darcy watched her out of the corner of his eye for a few minutes. As she continued to ignore him, he abandoned all pretence and fixed his eyes on her directly, examining every part of her person. Even so, it was many minutes before Elizabeth noticed his piercing gaze. When she did, she responded with playful defiance.

"Do you mean to disconcert me with your brooding countenance, sir, and shame me into returning to you this book?" she asked with a teasing smile. "If so, I must warn you that I have no scruple against repaying your extreme generosity with utmost selfishness, and intend to retain my prize to completion."

Darcy, pleased at having her attention at last, said: "You wilfully misunderstand me, Miss Bennet. I am merely enjoying the effect of the sunlight on a lovely lady."

Elizabeth, remembering his slight at the assembly, shook her head and half-rolled her eyes before returning to her book. Darcy, smiling, continued to stare at her openly.

"Mr. Darcy, this is unfair!" she protested with a laugh. "I really am trying to give this book back to you as soon as humanly possible, but if you stare at me in that fashion, I will not be able to focus. You must see that such conduct gets you no closer to your goal."

"Miss Bennet, your statement presupposes you to be aware of my goal, and reveals your error at once."

"What error is that?" Elizabeth was bemused.

"That I wish the book returned."

"You do _not_ wish that?"

"As I said earlier, I am not a hasty reader. I am prepared to be patient in order to savour my pleasures."

"Then what _is_ your goal?"

He changed seats so he was seated directly across from her. "Perhaps I had hoped that by sharing the book with you, you would share your thoughts with me."

"You wish to discuss the book?" She glanced at his face, surprised at his interest in conversing with her.

"I admit I had hoped for _some_ interaction. Reading does not always have to be a lonely pursuit."

Elizabeth turned it over in her mind. If she paused in her reading, she might not finish the book in time before she had to leave tomorrow. On the other hand, Darcy had been surprisingly obliging and not nearly as proud and unpleasant as she had initially thought. She was actually beginning to enjoy his company.

She smiled back at him. "Mr. Darcy, let me be frank. I would be delighted to discuss _Emma_ with you. You have shown yourself to be a man of intelligent opinions and I would be glad to hear more of them. However, I am torn, for my time to consume this story begins to run out."

He lifted an eyebrow. "If that is the issue, I would be happy to speak to Bingley and procure the loan of the book when you leave."

"Oh! Thank you, Mr. Darcy. That is very kind of you." It really _was_ , she thought. Because it meant that he had to postpone his own reading pleasure further.

Darcy observed that Elizabeth still kept her finger in the book to mark her place.

"Miss Bennet, I see that your heart remains with your book. In that case, I have one more suggestion to make wherein we both achieve our desires."

"What is that?"

"One of us must read the book to the other."

Elizabeth smiled appreciatively at this elegant solution. "Certainly." She held the book out to him. "You first."

Darcy turned it over in his hands. "You are a fast reader. I believe you are just about where I left off."

He opened the book and began to read. Elizabeth was surprised and delighted. For Darcy _was_ a great reader. When he read, his stiffness and formality fell away, and he entered with spirit into the story, even adopting different voices and intonations for the various characters. When he paused, Elizabeth clapped.

"That was marvelous!" she laughed. "Mr. Darcy, you are a man of hidden talents. It is too bad you have such a great estate to manage. To paraphrase Sir William Lucas, you could have been one of the brightest lights on the London stage."

Darcy dimpled at her, pleased. "My mother loved books and plays. She used to read aloud to me, and when she died I would read to my baby sister. Georgiana is fifteen now, but we still enjoy reading to each other." He held the book out to her. "Your turn, I believe, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth had not whiled away many winter hours reading to her father for nothing. Darcy was captivated, although not so lost in admiration that he was unable to form a resolution.

"Miss Bennet," he said, leaning forward to making his point, "enjoyable as this is, I find it presents a new dilemma."

"And what is that?"

"My enjoyment of the story is now dependent on having a companion in reading. And yet you leave tomorrow, and will take the book with you."

His tone was jocular, but there was an earnest look in his eye that could not but please Elizabeth.

"I see your problem and confess that I am somewhat of the same mind. Do you have another solution to propose, sir?"

"Indeed, I do," he smiled. "You will permit me to call upon you so that we may partake in more of the story. And you will have to promise that you will not read ahead without me."

"You ask a great deal, Mr. Darcy, unless you intend to be at Longbourn very frequently," she said teasingly. "You know my impatience for the conclusion."

He smiled into her eyes. "Depend upon it, I shall be there often."

* * *

 **A/N:** This story is a revised version of a 13-chapter fic I wrote titled _A Literary Courtship_ , which is posted in complete form at A Happy Assembly. It will have a total of about 15-17 chapters, with some bonus material that I will release at the end. If you have read ALC, you will find it is largely preserved with some new scenes, new chapters and minor and major revisions, including a new ending. The main part of the story traces Darcy and Elizabeth's courtship and the first few days of their marriage. It starts out fairly light and fluffy and will become serious and darker in the middle, around Chapter 6. If you are an angst weenie (I say this with affection, not derision) who just wants fluff, there is an easy exit after Chapter 3, which is the conclusion of their courtship.

Re: posting schedule. No promises! But I won't leave you hanging on any cliffies before a big break.

 **Special thanks to MaryR who was my most excellent and wonderful beta for the original version of this story, and to noagnes, whose cold reader beta comments on the direction of the revision have been enormously helpful.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Readings and Misreadings

**PART 1 - A LITERARY COURTSHIP**

 **Chapter 2 - Readings and Misreadings**

True to his word, Darcy called with Bingley at the earliest respectable hour the morning after Jane and Elizabeth's return home. Was it his fancy, or did her face light up at seeing him? But no, he told himself sternly, she was eager to resume their progress through _Emma_.

The gentlemen were shown into the drawing room, where Bingley immediately took up his post by Jane. Darcy sat down beside Elizabeth and asked her quietly if she had kept her promise to him.

She twinkled at him. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Darcy, but you do not know what it has cost me. I had to make Jane lock up the book in order to avoid peeking ahead, and I almost broke down this morning and begged for the key. Jane is so tender-hearted she would have given it to me at once, and then I would have broken my word. So you see, Mr. Darcy, that was no inconsequential promise you extracted. You could have been the ruin of my honour as a gentlewoman."

Darcy felt his cheeks warm and a tingle of heat go through his body. Was it him, or did her words have a double meaning? He looked at her doubtfully, but her eyes met his without any trace of consciousness. No, for all the fearlessness of her intellect and her womanly form, she was an innocent, and as a gentleman, he must treat her as such. He had already misjudged her once.

He responded sedately, asking if she wished to continue with the book immediately. Elizabeth was all smiles, and the two resumed where they had left off. The gentlemen passed the morning pleasantly with the Miss Bennets, staying well past the usual half-hour allotted for a call.

The next day, Darcy and Bingley were passing through the village on the way to Longbourn when they spied Elizabeth and her sisters talking with three men, one in uniform, another a clergyman, and the third with his back to them.

Immediately dismounting, the two gentlemen led their horses over to the ladies. Darcy was too busy admiring the roses in Elizabeth's cheeks to look closely at the men. He was only a few feet away when he heard a sharp intake of breath from the man dressed in civilian clothes. _Wickham!_

Darcy turned pale with rage, his hands involuntarily balling into fists, causing his horse to stir restively at the pressure on the reins. He calmed his horse at the same time he struggled for control of himself. What was Wickham doing here? His mind raced.

Wickham, whose face had flushed on seeing Darcy, recovered first. "Darcy. What a pleasant surprise. I did not expect to see you here," he said nervously.

"Wickham," Darcy said through clenched teeth. "Nor I you. What brings you to Meryton?"

"I am considering a commision in the regiment on the recommendation of my friend here. This is Lieutenant Denny. Denny, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

Darcy gave Denny a terse nod. "You have known Mr. Wickham long?"

"No, sir, we have just formed an acquaintance in Town," said Denny respectfully, impressed by the cut of Darcy's coat and the quality of his horse.

"It seems you are quite unknown in these parts, George," said Darcy meaningfully. "How fortunate for you that I am here to apprise these good people of your reputation and vouch for your true character."

"Ah … yes, fortunate indeed. If you'll excuse me, the time grows short. Denny, shall we go?" Wickham shot his friend a glance. "Ladies, Mr. Collins, I bid you adieu. It was indeed a pleasure."

Wickham hurried Denny away, glancing back once to see Darcy speaking to the luscious brunette Wickham had been eyeing, his hand on her arm. _Damn. Darcy gets everything. Ah well, I am not yet fully committed. I will have to make my fortune elsewhere._

The ladies remembered that they had not introduced their cousin. They did so now, and the group witnessed with amazement Mr. Collins's rapture on learning that Darcy was the nephew of his noble patroness, Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Darcy bore it calmly, but led Elizabeth ahead of the rest of the party at his first opportunity.

"It seems you have been acquainted with Mr. Wickham for some duration?" said Elizabeth, whose eyes had missed none of the tension between the men.

"He was my father's godson and the son of his steward. We grew up together at Pemberley."

"Indeed!" said Elizabeth curiously. "And - have you maintained a close relationship?"

Darcy turned and scrutinised Elizabeth, wondering how much to tell her. For years, he had adopted a policy of saying nothing, leaving Wickham to his own devices whatever they might be, so long as it did not involve him or his family. But somehow he was not content to let the man run amok in Meryton, where Elizabeth lived.

Finally, he said, "No, we have not. Mr. Wickham and I have been estranged for many years. I cannot approve of his lifestyle and I wish that if he chooses to settle here, you and your family will keep your distance from him. I cannot provide you with any particulars, as they are not fit for a young lady's ears, but suffice it to say that Mr. Wickham is a scoundrel of the worst kind."

Elizabeth's mouth was a round O. She shut it and murmured, "Of course. Thank you for the warning. I shall make sure to apprise my family and acquaintance of your information."

They chatted about books the rest of the way. Elizabeth was pleased to learn that Darcy and Bingley had intended to call on them all along. They would soon be finished with _Emma_ at this rate.

* * *

"… And it is odd, is it not, that two men who shared a childhood can barely stand to speak to each other now? I do not think we will see Mr. Wickham again."

"Mmm," said Jane, in her nightgown and brushing her hair. She was jolted out of her reverie when a pillow hit her on the side of the head, causing her to drop her brush with a clatter. "Lizzy!"

"Dearest, you are not attending to me at all," said Elizabeth from Jane's bed, where she had been lying on her belly, her chin propped contemplatively in her hands. She was now on her knees, a second pillow at the ready. "All I have had from you for the last ten minutes is 'mmm,' 'oh, yes' and 'interesting.' Has Mr. Bingley already stolen away my sister Jane?"

"I am sorry, Lizzy," said Jane contritely. "I will attend to you now. What were you saying?"

"What were you saying!" she mocked Jane. "Nothing to interest you, apparently. Perhaps we should talk of Mr. Bingley. How he looks in his fine blue coat. How sweet his smile when he bids you good day. How strong his hand feels holding yours … "

"Stop it, Lizzy! I am not that bad!"

"Oh no? I suppose you did not notice that you said "Yes, Charles" when Papa called your name at supper?"

Jane blushed and Elizabeth laughed, then moaned dramatically to the pillow she was still holding, "Oh, Charles! _Oh_ , Charles, my _darling …_ "

Jane fired the pillow Elizabeth had thrown at her back to Elizabeth, who dodged it by bounding off the bed. She picked up her own pillow and flung it at Jane, starting an all-out pillow fight.

In the midst of this scene, Mrs. Bennet entered the room. "Girls, girls!"

Jane immediately sat back down in front of her mirror and picked up her brush again, trying to look sedate but smiling and pink. Elizabeth, still laughing, sat back down on Jane's bed holding both pillows, which she had won in the fight.

"Yes, Mama?" she said, still laughing from the game.

"Lizzy, you sly thing. I understand from Mr. Collins that Mr. Darcy walked with you through Meryton. And that was _before_ he sat talking to you all afternoon!"

"Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth in surprise. "Oh! No, Mama, you must not think – "

"I do not know how you managed it!" Mrs. Bennet continued as if Elizabeth had not said a word. "He is so handsome, so rich, so tall! Bingley is nothing to him, Jane. It will be the talk of the town! Oh! I must call on Mrs. Philips immediately on the morrow. Two daughters soon to be married!"

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed in mortification at the idea that her mother was trumpeting it about the neighbourhood that she was casting her eyes to Darcy, especially after the Bennet family had ridiculed him so energetically for daring to slight her at the Meryton assembly.

"Restrain yourself, Mama. You read far too much into it. Mr. Darcy and I are friends, only friends. It is only natural, considering Mr. Bingley's interest in Jane. He said that he is used to reading with his sister. It is very likely that he misses having a reading companion at hand, and I am a convenient surrogate."

"He does seem to enjoy your company, Lizzy," Jane ventured slyly, glad to turn the tables on Elizabeth for a few moments.

"And I his, but consider, Jane. He did call me just _tolerable_. Surely, Mama, that is not the language of love. We are just friends," Elizabeth smiled.

At this, Mrs. Bennet grew sober. "Aye, that is true, Lizzy, a gentleman is never interested in a woman he does not find handsome, and Mr. Darcy would have his pick of the beauties of the land. Ah! It is too bad you are not as beautiful as Jane. What wealth and jewels you might have had if only you had been better-looking."

"My looks are not quite so impoverished as all _that_ , I trust, Mama," said Elizabeth, a little piqued that her mother should agree with her so quickly.

"Oh! You are very good in your way, Lizzy, but nothing to what Mr. Darcy requires. He is so very handsome and rich!"

"Then it is a good thing I have no interest in Mr. Darcy in that way," said Elizabeth, nettled.

"Oh! Well," said Mrs. Bennet, as if Elizabeth had not spoken. "Perhaps you could catch Mr. Darcy in a situation where he is honour-bound to marry you."

Jane and Elizabeth both gasped at this.

"Mama, let me be clear, I would _never_ resort to such tricks and stratagems to induce an honourable gentleman to marry me against his will. How can you even think of such a thing!"

"Oh Lizzy, don't be so missish! How do you think your father and me – "

Jane and Elizabeth gasped again, and Jane clapped her hands over her ears as her sister began speaking very quickly and loudly to drown out their mother.

* * *

The next time Darcy and Bingley called, Mrs. Bennet contrived to leave them alone with Jane and Elizabeth by taking Mr. Collins and her younger daughters to call on the Lucases. Mr. Bennet, she knew, was wrapped up in a translation project and would not stir from his library.

Elizabeth, embarrassed by her mother's scheme and fearful that Darcy might suspect she had a part in it, greeted Darcy with much of her old reserve.

Darcy, for his part, was quite pleased to see Mrs. Bennet depart. He had already decided that he had serious designs on the second Miss Bennet and looked forward to the day's reading with excited anticipation. If his interpretation was correct, they were reaching the resolution quickly, and it would likely involve a declaration and possibly a proposal to the heroine. It was his turn to read, and he envisioned gazing into Elizabeth's eyes, conveying his own meaning to her as Mr. Knightley conveyed his to Emma. What would Elizabeth's reaction be?

When the moment came, Darcy was disappointed, for Elizabeth would not meet his eyes. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed determinedly on her needlework, her body language stiff and awkward. What did it mean? Was she indifferent, and did not wish to encourage him? Or was she so innocent that she was embarrassed?

As usual, after they had both finished their allotted reading, they fell to discussing story developments.

"Were you surprised that Mr. Knightley proved to be Emma's ultimate choice?" asked Darcy.

"I cannot say I knew it from the beginning. But I believe about halfway through I could sense it coming," Elizabeth said as she continued on with her needlework.

"Halfway through?" he asked. "When was that? I do not believe I had an inkling until after the Box Hill scene."

"The dance at the Crown. When he rescued Harriet and then danced with Emma, I knew he was destined to be the hero."

"You cannot infer so much from a man dancing two dances," said Darcy incredulously.

"You misunderstand the importance of a dance, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth mischievously, the needlework laid aside.

"Then I wish that you would enlighten me as to its significance."

"A man's willingness to dance is an indication of his eligibility. Everybody knows that," said Elizabeth in a lofty tone.

"How can that be so?" said Darcy in protest. "A man stands in a long row with other men, follows a repetitive, predefined pattern ordered by someone else, and attempts to converse with his partner on a limited variety of subjects while constantly being subject to interruption. There is no originality or wit required for that. It does not even require any feat of physical exertion."

"Men always think some type of physical exertion is required. That is exactly what the author capitalised on, when she had Frank Churchill rescue Harriet from the gypsies. It was a superficial act of heroism, which blinded Emma to the true heroism of a man willing to endure this 'repetitive, predefined pattern' as you term it, out of esteem for his lady, and a desire to be with her."

"I accept that a man's request to dance may be seen as proof of his regard," said Darcy, smiling slightly. "But how do you explain Mr. Knightley's request to dance with _Harriet_ as proof of his regard for _Emma_?"

"That is simple. The fact that he is willing to dance with a woman close to Emma, a woman in whom he would otherwise never show any interest, shows the distance which he is prepared to go for love and the depth of his commitment to Emma."

"And you comprehended all of this when you read of Mr. Knightley's dance at the Crown?" Darcy said skeptically.

"Oh! Yes."

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said pleasantly, one corner of his mouth lifting, "There is nothing easier than claiming to foretell the future in hindsight."

She laughed at that. "But I am not! Truly, I am not, sir. I did think it at the time."

He continued to shake his head at her, causing Elizabeth to laugh.

"Such doubt, sir! It does not become you. It is impolitic too, for it provokes me to retaliate and point out that _your_ conduct at the Meryton assembly was the very antithesis of Mr. Knightley's. It sent the clear signal that you were not amenable to the persuasion of the fairer sex."

"Perhaps that is the intended effect," Darcy said with a sombre look.

Elizabeth's curiosity was piqued. However, she answered in a light-hearted tone. "Ah! In that case, I congratulate you on your skill in being so repulsive. But should a lady ever happen to catch your eye, I would suggest that you had much better dance."

Darcy smiled at that. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I will take that under advisement."

Elizabeth was about to ask why Darcy would purposely intend to repel people when they were interrupted by a loud bustle at the door that indicated Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters were home.

Lydia flounced into the drawing room followed by Kitty and Mrs. Bennet. Mary entered last, looking cross.

"Lord! You are just where we left you. Have you done nothing but read, Lizzy? How dreadfully dull!"

Elizabeth ignored Lydia. "Did you have a good visit at the Lucases, Mama?"

"It was exceptionally dull!" Lydia replied. "I would much rather have gone to Aunt Philips's. We heard on the way home that all of the officers stopped in. Too bad that Wickham was so bad! He was fearful handsome. How fine he would have looked in regimentals."

Elizabeth, seeing Darcy's face register disgust, said quickly, "Where is Mr. Collins, Mama? Did he not come back with you?"

"No, he was invited to stay for supper at the Lucases. I am sure that Charlotte Lucas is setting her cap at him. Well! She is welcome to him. I am sure my daughters do not need that usurper of estates." Mrs. Bennet looked with satisfaction at Bingley and Darcy, to Elizabeth's great embarrassment.

"Mary would take him," said Lydia. "She would be glad to. But even Mr. Collins does not want Mary; she is so very plain and dull!"

"I have no wish to draw attention to myself," sniffed Mary. "A proper female comports herself with sobriety. Female decorum is never bold."

"Oh _lord_ ," said Lydia as Kitty tittered. "Mr. Darcy, are you and Mr. Bingley staying for supper?"

"We have not been invited, Miss Lydia, and it is quite late. We do not wish to impose," said Darcy formally.

"Yes, I am sure Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley must be going," said Elizabeth, eager to separate the gentlemen from her embarrassing mother and younger sisters. Jane rose, followed by Bingley. At the door, he stopped.

"Oh, I almost forgot. My sisters and I wish to invite you to a ball at Netherfield. On the 26th of November. The invitations are going out tomorrow, but I wanted to give you yours in person. The officers are invited," he smiled at Lydia and Kitty. "You will come, won't you?" Bingley addressed the last to Jane.

The ladies' response was all that he could have desired and the party broke up with smiles.

On the way home, Bingley waxed excited about the prospect of the ball, and the chance to dance with many beautiful women, but especially Miss Bennet.

"So, Darcy, do you intend to dance at my ball? Or do you intend to skulk in the corners as usual?"

"Certainly I will dance, Bingley," he replied. "I understand that nothing pleases a woman better than to see a man dance."

* * *

After the completion of _Emma_ , Darcy suggested to Elizabeth that they move on to Shakespeare. Elizabeth agreed, and after much discussion of the merits of the Bard's various plays, _King Lear_ was settled on as a fine example of pathos and tragic humanity.

After _Emma_ , Elizabeth found _King Lear_ to be somewhat heavy going. She loved _King Lear_ , but it was a sober, serious work, more appropriate for a gloomy night in the theatre than drawing room discourse. She wondered why Darcy would push for _King Lear_ , a work devoid of comedy and romance? Perhaps his interest in spending time with her _was_ purely intellectual?

It did not help that a prolonged bout of rainy weather kept Lydia and Kitty from walking to Meryton every day. Since, unlike Darcy and Bingley, they had no carriage at their disposal, this meant they were required to stay in. Deprived of their favourite activity of flirting with officers, they were able to do nothing useful. Instead, they were a constant nuisance, pestering for a part in Elizabeth's readings with Darcy, then doing it poorly with much interjection and disruptive commentary.

Even worse, Elizabeth suspected that Lydia had developed a partiality for Darcy, and where Lydia led, Kitty followed. They kept up a sustained teasing of the gentleman that not only humiliated and infuriated Elizabeth, but seemed to drive Darcy back behind an impenetrable wall of reserve. Quality conversation was impossible.

After a number of frustrating days trapped inside, the weather finally turned on the morning of the ball. It was ecstasy to at last be able to go outside and Elizabeth took the first opportunity.

As she jumped puddles and climbed stiles, her thoughts wandered back to Darcy. What did he think of her? He did not sigh and gaze soulfully into her eyes the way Bingley did with Jane. Instead, he met her teasing banter with sly badinage of his own, but only when they were comparatively alone. If any of her family with the possible exception of Jane was present, he became distant and formal.

Teasing out this puzzle so occupied Elizabeth's thoughts that she scarcely noticed the surrounding countryside until she realized she had headed in the direction of Netherfield. She could see the Hall in the distance. Perhaps she would run into Darcy out for a walk or a ride?

"You are being silly, Elizabeth!" she scolded aloud, then laughed at herself. How ironic that a man she had disliked so only scant weeks ago was now turning her into a moony girl.

She eyed the log fence that delineated the farmer's field. On a sudden whim, she climbed the stile to the top of the fence and, glancing furtively around to ensure there was nobody to see her indulging herself in an old childish pastime, balanced herself and ran lightly across the top of the fence. What fun! Elizabeth took four more fences in the same way until she was suddenly startled by the sound of a dog barking and lost her balance. She jumped down.

"Ambrosius!" Elizabeth exclaimed as a large hound burst out of the brush and bounded up to her. "Sit!"

It was the dog she had played with during her stay at Netherfield Hall. Darcy's dog. She turned quickly to see if his owner was in the environs and felt her heart bound at the sight of him approaching her on a horse. Then she blushed as she thought of him seeing her run across fences like a child. He must think her a hoyden.

Darcy dismounted and walked his horse over to her. "Miss Bennet. Enjoying the fine weather, I see," his eyes crinkling with mirth.

She smiled roguishly back. "Yes, although I must warn you there is a strange meteorological phenomenon that occurs on fine days in Hertfordshire around this time of year."

"Indeed? And what is that?"

"The sun can play tricks with your eyes and distort reality to an extreme degree. For example, sometimes it makes people in the distance appear as if they were doing things that they were … definitely _not_ doing."

He chuckled as he tied his horse to a post, loosely enough that the animal could graze. "Miss Bennet, I do not know what you mean. I saw nothing other than a young lady walking decorously in the lane."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she smiled appreciatively.

"And … " Darcy said as he mounted the stile, "I will not tell if you do not tell."

Elizabeth watched in delighted amazement as Darcy balanced himself on the post, then ran across the top of the fence to the next post, Ambrosius barking in encouragement. She ran down the way laughing as he successfully achieved four fences.

"Well done, Mr. Darcy," she said as he jumped down and swept his hat off in a bow. He tucked it under his arm and raked his gloved hands through his hair. "Although, I do not think you were quite as light on your feet as I."

"My boots are heavier," he said in explanation. "It makes it harder to feel the contour of the log with your feet."

"Tut, tut," she teased. "A good carpenter does not blame his tools. I think you must admit defeat."

He lifted his eyebrows in amusement. "I had not realised it was a contest or I would have tried harder."

"And, of course, Ambrosius startled me," Elizabeth continued. "Or I certainly would have exceeded five fences."

"Rematch?"

"You first."

This time Darcy did eight fences, but again Elizabeth bested him, completing nine.

"It is these Hertfordshire fences," he complained as he untied his horse. "They are not built quite right. If we had been in Derbyshire – "

Elizabeth exploded in laughter. "I would best you in Derbyshire or Timbuktu, Mr. Darcy!"

"Then I challenge you to a rematch in Derbyshire or Timbuktu, Miss Bennet."

Her heart beat faster. "If we ever happen to be in those places at the same, I would be happy to accept. Although I do not think that is likely."

Darcy hesitated in his reply and, to fill the silence, Elizabeth informed him that she was due to return to Longbourn for breakfast and began walking in that direction. He fell into step beside her.

They chatted pleasantly of various topics. Before he left her at the gate to Longbourn, he informed her that he and Bingley had an engagement to go shooting in the morning and then Bingley would be too busy with preparations for the ball to be able to make their now daily call at Longbourn. Elizabeth's disappointment was sharp as she realized how much she had come to look forward to Darcy's visits. Oh well! She would see him at the ball. She was about to bid Darcy good-bye and turn away, but he stopped her with a touch on the arm.

"One more thing, Miss Bennet," Darcy said.

"Yes?"

"May I claim your hand for the first at the Bingleys' ball?"

Her heart leapt. "I would be delighted."

He smiled at her. "Thank you. Until tonight, then."

She watched as he mounted his horse, tipped his hat to her and rode away.

* * *

Elizabeth dressed for the ball with more than usual care, scrutinizing herself carefully in the glass as she dressed her hair. She knew she looked very pretty, but was she beautiful? Beautiful enough to tempt anyone?

There was a knock on the door, which opened to admit Jane.

"How are you, dearest?" said her sister. "Would you like me to help with your hair?"

Elizabeth admitted that she would be very glad of Jane's help. Sarah, one of the housemaids, served as lady's maids at times like these, but her attention was often monopolized by their mother.

Jane looked beautiful, as always. Her golden hair was styled _a la grecque_ with tendrils escaping around her forehead and her eyes were wide and blue and serene.

"I wish I was as beautiful as you, Jane," Elizabeth said wistfully.

Jane looked at her in surprise. "You _are_ , Lizzy."

"Not according to Mama."

Jane smiled, her magical fingers twisting and pinning Elizabeth's hair. "I have never known you to hold Mama's opinions in particularly high regard, Lizzy."

Elizabeth flashed her sister a sudden smile. "No, that is true. Poor Mama! But still, on this point she is correct, Jane."

"I do not agree. Beauty is very much a matter of taste, Lizzy. And on this point, Papa and I think you are just as beautiful as me. In fact, I have no doubt that were Papa to give an opinion, he would say you are more beautiful than me. It is only that Papa does not speak of such things and Mama is only too ready to do so."

"That will not do, Jane," Elizabeth smiled. "You are not truly speaking of beauty but of affection."

"And what is beauty but the joy one feels when beholding another person? If affection adds greater lustre to that joy, it is no less real. But I was not speaking only of affection, Lizzy. You _are_ beautiful. Anyone would say so. It is not only in feature, but everything about you. The way you move and how your face lights up when you speak. People just like to look at you. I think _I_ must seem so placid and boring next to you." Jane smiled ruefully.

"Oh! No, Jane. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the kindest and the sweetest as well." Elizabeth rose from her chair and slipped her arm around Jane and gave her a kiss. She pointed at their reflection in the mirror and laughed. "There! You are right, Jane, we are both beautiful and all the handsomest men will fall in love with us."

Jane smiled and kissed Elizabeth on the temple. "There you have it," she said. "Now _that_ is more like my Lizzy."

* * *

The ballroom at Netherfield was a sight to send almost any young heart soaring. Fresh garlands hung round the room and candles lit even the furthest corner with a warm glow. By the time the Bennets arrived – late as usual, owing to Mrs. Bennet's disorganized fluttering and twittering – it was already a mass of excited, chattering people. Elizabeth was relieved to see Charlotte. They had much catching up to do.

From her mother's and Lydia's gossiping reports, she was not surprised to hear that her friend was engaged for the first dance and the supper dance with Mr. Collins. However, she was surprised that Charlotte should be so complacent about it.

"Not everybody can be so lucky as you, Lizzy, to attract the attention of the great Mr. Darcy," said Charlotte.

"Oh no, Charlotte, you sound just like my mother. Mr. Darcy and I are just friends. He is a good friend to Mr. Bingley. They are inseparable, it seems."

"Are you sure that is all it is? He pays you a great compliment in singling you out for a dance. We have hardly ever seen him dance. If it were Mr. Bingley, who loves to dance, it might mean nothing, but not Mr. Darcy, who is so _very_ particular and discriminating."

Before Elizabeth could respond, Darcy approached the ladies. Elizabeth could not quite contain her blush of excitement at seeing him.

"Miss Lucas, you look very well tonight," he bowed very correctly. "Miss Elizabeth, I believe you have promised me a dance."

Elizabeth smiled and put her gloved hand in his outstretched one and allowed herself to be led to the set. Owing to Darcy's standing, they held the place of honour at the top of the set, right beside Jane and Bingley, and Elizabeth felt the compliment that she and Jane should open the ball with two such handsome men. Somewhere in the large room her mother must be nearly prostrate with ecstasy.

"Mr. Darcy, allow me to congratulate you on your fine dancing," said Elizabeth archly as they moved through the set. "Had I known you were so accomplished I would certainly have agreed to stand up with you before now."

"Your loss, Miss Elizabeth," he smiled. "But I am glad you finally recognize my worth."

"Well, you know, no man can be esteemed accomplished only because he has a thorough knowledge of managing an estate, of shooting, riding and hunting; a certain something in his air and manner of walking, the tone of his voice, his address and expressions. No, to all of this he must yet add something more substantial in the improvement of himself by extensive dancing."

Darcy let out a short bark of laughter at Elizabeth's twisting of Caroline Bingley's words spoken just over a week ago. His mirth drew amazed looks from their neighbours who were unused to seeing him other than taciturn.

He smiled at her and lowered his voice. "I will endeavor to satisfy your high notions of accomplishment, Miss Elizabeth. Is there anything else you would prescribe for my general improvement?"

Elizabeth, satisfied that she had carried her point that he should follow up their first dance with another, left off any further teasing. "I think you will do very well for now, Mr. Darcy."

"I am glad to hear it."

They smiled at each other. For the remainder of the dance, they did not speak much. Elizabeth was satisfied enough to _look_. He was so very handsome, towering above the crowd in his beautifully tailored coat and silk waistcoat, set off with a snowy cravat. She also felt there was no need of conversation; their eyes alone must be eloquent enough. She noticed that he gazed fixedly at her throughout the dance and when the pattern required them to part, he searched for her eye as much as she did for his when they came together again.

After the dance ended, they stood for a moment, her hand in his, and Elizabeth thought that _now_ he must ask her for a second dance; either the one immediately following or the supper dance, which would allow them to take supper together. Darcy turned to her and opened his lips but before he could speak they were interrupted by Sir William Lucas, who approached with Charlotte.

"I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir," he addressed Darcy. "Such very superior dancing is not often seen! It is evident that you belong to the first circles. I hope we will be treated to a further showing of your skill. You have deprived our assembly too long of your performance."

Darcy gave Elizabeth one last glance and a smile, then turned to Sir William and Charlotte.

"Thank you, Sir William," Darcy said politely. "And if your daughter is not otherwise engaged, I would be pleased to dance the next with her, if she would favour me with her hand."

"Oh! Sir! You do us too much honour!" Sir William exclaimed, his friendly, florid face wreathed with smiles. "Indeed, you are all condescension! My daughter will certainly be delighted to dance with you, eh, Charlotte?" Charlotte nodded her ready acceptance, blushing and smiling. "I trust she will acquit you as honourably in the eyes of our assembly as the fair Miss Elizabeth."

"What an amiable man Mr. Darcy is! Such condescension!" Sir William Lucas said to Elizabeth as they watched Darcy leading Charlotte to the set. "I recall we once thought he might be too proud for present company, but that seems to be all past, eh, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth, her eyes glued to Darcy dancing with her closest friend, knew not how she replied, but evidently it was to Sir William's satisfaction for he launched into another litany of praise for her own dancing. Perhaps feeling some need to make amends for detaching Darcy from her, he also made haste to hail a passing officer and introduce him to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth danced with a number of officers next, then Bingley. She endeavoured to be good company, but she felt that she was not her usual lively self, as some of her attention was constantly claimed by what Darcy was doing. She noticed that he was always surrounded by young ladies and eager parents. Apparently she was not the only woman who was charmed by a Mr. Darcy who was prepared to dance. At least his partners were only Miss Bingley and Elizabeth's own sisters. Except – who was the pretty brunette he was now leading to the set?

"That is Miss Russell," Bingley informed her when she managed to slip an unobtrusive inquiry into conversation. "Her father is Sir Theodore Russell, a baronet from Essex. He is a longtime acquaintance of Darcy's family."

Elizabeth wondered what fortune she had, but decided it was too bold to ask.

The ball was half over and she had yet to speak to Darcy again. She was now dancing with Lieutenant Denny while he was dancing higher in the set with a young blond woman. She also saw that the blonde woman was gazing quite soulfully into his eyes and had just said something that had drawn what looked like a half-smile from him.

Elizabeth smiled brilliantly at Mr. Denny and teased him about Lydia's stories of the officers' hijinks. Denny responded with great animation and regaled her with more hilarious and slightly risqué tales, which set her laughing heartily.

At the end of the dance, Denny seemed reluctant to leave her side, and said, "Miss Elizabeth, if you would like to know about Mr. Chamberlayne's further trials at your sisters' hands, I would be pleased to tell you, but only if you dance the next with me."

The next was the supper dance. Elizabeth peered surreptitiously to where she had last seen Darcy, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Mr. Denny. I am sure I will not be able to sleep tonight if you do not satisfy my curiosity about Mr. Chamberlayne."

She asked to sit down for a few minutes before the next dance began and Denny left to fetch her a glass of lemonade and a plate of ice. She moved to find a seat when she heard a familiar voice behind her call her name.

"Mr. Darcy," she turned with a bright smile, determined to hide her hurt.

He bowed. "Miss Bennet. I see you have been exercising yourself admirably. If you are not otherwise engaged, would you dance the next with me? It is the supper dance."

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, but I am otherwise engaged."

His posture stiffened perceptibly. "May I ask with whom?"

"With Mr. Denny."

"With Mr. Denny? But you have just danced with him."

"He asked for a second dance, which I was pleased to grant him." Elizabeth stressed the word "he" slightly.

"May I take you in for supper afterward, then?"

"I believe that privilege usually lies with the person with whom one has danced the supper dance, Mr. Darcy." She spoke with regret. She would have much preferred to sit with Mr. Darcy, but she would not snub Mr. Denny, who had done nothing to deserve it.

"You seem to enjoy the company of Mr. Denny."

"Yes, I find him quite agreeable." At Darcy's silence, she added, "I see you have found your own share of agreeable partners, Mr. Darcy."

He ignored her second comment and said, "It seems you and your sisters are rather fond of officers, Miss Elizabeth."

"I see no reason not to be when they are gentleman-like men. They do service for King and country and should enjoy the support of the populace."

"Oh yes. Protecting Hertfordshire from the French," Darcy said scornfully, a shade of _hauteur_ spreading over his features.

Elizabeth felt her colour rising. She opened her lips, but bit back her retort when Denny approached her smiling, his hands full.

"Miss Elizabeth! What a crush! But I have found seats in the other room and Sanderson is holding them for us. It's in a forgotten corner so we should have some privacy. Will you come?" He stopped short when he noticed Darcy standing there and said jovially, "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy, but I need to steal away your conversational partner. She has pledged her hand to me for the next, and we have only a few minutes before it starts."

"Of course." Darcy bowed coldly and left them.

Elizabeth watched him go with mixed emotions, then turned her attentions to Denny, determined not to make him suffer for her pique at Darcy. After the next dance, Denny escorted her into supper and they were seated in the middle of a sea of officers.

Elizabeth noticed that Darcy had danced the supper dance with Miss Russell and was now seated with her for supper. Her enquiries had yielded the information that Miss Russell had a fortune of twenty-five thousand pounds.

She turned a warm smile to Denny and the rest of the officers and teased them about whether they had learnt their fine dancing in each other's arms. This triggered an uproarious response, and Elizabeth found herself besieged with demands that she allow them an opportunity to demonstrate their abilities with her. She had little trouble disposing of the remainder of her dances.

It was near the end of the night when she looked up and saw Darcy gazing at her from a few feet away. She had danced with several more officers by then, and Darcy, she noticed, had stood up with Kitty, Lydia, Mrs. Hurst, Maria Lucas and, for some unaccountable reason, Lydia again. Elizabeth was beginning to regret her hastiness in disposing of all of her dances so quickly. Perhaps Chamberlayne, with whom she was engaged to dance the final set, would agree to split it with Darcy. Elizabeth was just about to give Darcy an inviting smile when it faded on her lips. Miss Russell had come up and given Darcy's arm an intimate squeeze. Elizabeth turned away.

After the last dance, Elizabeth's head was aching and she was glad to go home. In the carriage, her mother's ecstasy at Jane's triumph in dancing four times with Bingley and sitting with him at supper seemed unbearable. Lydia and Kitty's giddy chatter did not help either.

"Goodness, how Mr. Darcy danced, did he not, Mama!" said Lydia. "And how very fine he looked! He could not have looked handsomer if he was an officer in regimentals. Every woman's eye was on him tonight. Did you see his tight breeches? Lord, I could not stop staring!"

"Lydia!" said Jane, shocked. "Do not talk about such things."

"Why shouldn't I talk about it, if everyone is thinking it?"

"We do not care what you are thinking, Lydia, but some things are not to be mentioned in polite company. Surely even _you_ can recognise that," said Elizabeth, more nasty than was usual for her.

Lydia was not cowed. "La! I don't know who you are to lecture me, Lizzy. I notice you took a good long look at Mr. Darcy's breeches yourself."

"Lydia!" said Jane again, seeing that Elizabeth was struck speechless.

"Fine, then. Mama, did you see that I danced twice with Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, I did. I am not surprised! You looked very well tonight, and I should not be at all surprised if Mr. Darcy should fall in love with you! It may be that he would like a good-humoured wife best. How very obliging he is, to dance with all of my daughters, and you twice! Why that was as good as Miss Russell, and of course _she_ needed twenty-five thousand pounds to tempt him, and I heard that he had a prior acquaintance with her father."

"Yes indeed! I believe Lizzy misjudged him at the Meryton assembly. She said he was proud and disagreeable and did not like dancing, but I think it likely that he did not want to dance with her and therefore had to sit out the rest of the dances out of politeness. After all, Lizzy, he only danced with you once."

Elizabeth, who had turned her face to the window, did not reply. When they arrived at home, she was first out of the carriage, and stalked into the house.

"Goodness, what's wrong with _her_?" said Lydia. "I believe she is jealous of me. But I don't see how I can help it if Mr. Darcy likes _me_ best."

"I don't know how you can say that," said Kitty. "Mr. Darcy asked me to dance as much as you. The only reason you got a second dance from him was because you pestered him and would not leave off until he agreed. And by then all of Lizzy's dances were gone."

Lydia and Kitty fell to bickering as the rest of the party entered the house.

* * *

The day after the Netherfield ball, Bingley received a note that summoned him to Town. This would be a good chance to make arrangements with his solicitor over his plans to ask for his darling Jane's hand, he thought. He also thought his sisters might like to have a quick visit to Town. In this he was correct, for the Hursts were tired of Hertfordshire, and Miss Bingley had all but given up her hopes of Darcy. Now he just had to find Darcy to see if wished to come along.

He found Darcy in the billiards room, looking glum.

"What is wrong, Darcy? Too much brandy last night? Mr. Vyse can fix you up something for that."

"No, I hardly drank. I was too busy dancing."

"Yes, I noticed that. It was a great pleasure to see you join the human race. Has this revised your earlier opinion on dancing?"

"No. It has confirmed everything I have ever thought. It was detestable standing up with all of those women, listening to their inane, vulgar chatter all evening. Once you start with one, they all come with their dreadful hints. And just when you find someone you _do_ wish to dance with, you have to yield her to someone else. Bingley, I do not think there was any need to invite so many officers to the ball."

"I had to, Darcy, Caroline insisted that there needed to be enough men for all of the ladies. And I had not expected you to dance so enthusiastically. Besides, I did not notice that they monopolized the attention of the ladies. I was able to dance four times with Jane. Four times with my angel!"

"Yes, and that was a serious breach of propriety, as you well know. You gave every woman in the room without a partner license to excoriate you as ungentlemanlike. And since when did Miss Bennet give you leave to refer to her as _Jane_?"

"I could give you the particulars, Darcy, but then I would be breaching my honour as a gentleman, since a gentleman would never relate the details of a tender encounter." Bingley looked both smug and dreamy at once.

Bingley's preening annoyed Darcy exceedingly. Who was Bingley to lecture him on how to behave with a woman? On the other hand, at least Bingley appeared to be getting somewhere, Darcy thought sourly.

Bingley explained about his trip to London and asked Darcy if he wished to come.

"I do not think so. I cannot think of anything I need to do in Town. Do you mind if I stay without you?"

"Not at all. We will only be gone for two nights. I just thought you might wish to drop in on the fencing academy and also see how Georgiana is getting on with her studies."

"The fencing is no good this time of year, and I will see Georgiana at her break. I prefer not to disturb her lessons at this juncture. Besides, Miss Elizabeth and I are almost finished with _King Lear_ , and she hates to have her reading interrupted."

"Suit yourself. Deuce if I can figure out why you find that play enjoyable, however."

" _King Lear_? It is one of the Bard's finest. And it has a strong female character with a close relationship to her father. I thought Miss Elizabeth would be interested. What is wrong with _King Lear_?"

"Nothing is wrong with it. I saw it in the theatre and was so moved I spent half the week moping around thinking about treachery and death and futility. That is the problem, it is just so depressing. Nobody falls in love and everybody you like dies, do they not? That is a sure mood-killer. I would not be as serious and literary as you for a kingdom, Darcy. If I had to pick a play to read with a pretty girl, I would certainly not pick _King Lear_. No, I would pick something romantic. And short."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** Thanks everyone for your comments! They are much appreciated. A couple of people caught errors, which I fixed for the most part, so thank you for pointing them out. One person mentioned Darcy was OOC. I have to say I disagree, but each to their own interpretation. I'm not sure how he's OOC, though. Is it because he's being polite and dancing? I'm picturing him as reformed Darcy. He's experienced a much gentler comeuppance in learning of Elizabeth's initial indifference so he's already had the realization that he has to behave to win her. He's the way he was at Pemberley when Mr. Gardiner called him "perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming." And Mrs. Gardiner says there is "something a little stately in him" but "it is confined to his air."_

 _Finally, I will say that I bear no allegiance to fanon or any adaptation. My only loyalty is to Jane Austen's text. Some of my characters will not match the usual fanon interpretation but i think they are (for the most part) supported by the text._

 _OK, on with the story ..._


	3. Chapter 3 - The Food of Love and Lust

_**Author's Note:** Please see end of Chapter 2 for Chapter 2 author's notes. All author's notes will be posted at the end of the chapter they pertain to. _

* * *

**PART I – A LITERARY COURTSHIP**

 **Chapter 3 - The Food of Love and Lust**

 _"I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"_

 _"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy._

 _"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."_

\- Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

* * *

"You wish to read poetry?" Elizabeth considered Darcy doubtfully. It was the first time they had spoken alone in three days.

The day after the Netherfield ball, Darcy had called at Longbourn around his usual time, but without Bingley. He was informed that Elizabeth was out walking with her sister Jane, and was forced to sit in the parlour with Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters. It was an exceedingly unpleasant twenty minutes before he succeeded in extricating himself, and Darcy had to revert back to his proud and disagreeable manner to accomplish it.

The next day, he arrived earlier than usual and found Elizabeth dressed for a walk, waiting for her sister. She acquiesced coldly to his request that he accompany her and Jane into Meryton. She seemed to thaw somewhat on the walk in, but when they arrived in the village, Darcy found himself besieged with attention from women with whom he had danced at Netherfield, or their relatives.

He was in the middle of a conversation with Sir William Lucas when Elizabeth walked on ahead. When he finally got himself free, he found Elizabeth and Jane laughing in an animated conversation with Denny and a group of officers. Darcy felt a sudden urge to break Denny's teeth. He responded coldly to their greeting and took his farewell of the ladies, saying he needed to continue with his morning calls.

Two days after the Netherfield ball, Bingley returned in the late evening without the Hursts and Miss Bingley, informing Darcy that they had decided to remain in Town. He seemed excited, and suggested that they call on Longbourn as early as possible the next day. Darcy was of half a mind to decline and tell Bingley that he was returning to Town as well, just to see if Elizabeth would even notice. However, Bingley was so pointed in his insistence that Darcy accompany him that he agreed. Perhaps he was giving up too easily.

The gentlemen found all of the family still at breakfast. After making their apologies, they adjourned to the drawing room. There, Bingley told Darcy that he needed to speak to Jane alone and proposed that they all walk out while Darcy drew off the rest of the ladies. Despite the season, it was a fine day, with the warmth of autumn rather than the nip of winter.

The proposal was met with general approbation with the exception of Mary, who expressed a preference to stay in, and Elizabeth, who remained silent.

Bingley and Jane fell behind the group and Darcy found himself walking with Elizabeth and Kitty and Lydia. Aware that Lydia had set her sights on him, Darcy resisted all of her attempts at flirtation and made his response as cool and flat as politeness would allow. After a while, she gave up trying to secure his attention, and fell to whispering and gossiping with Kitty. Elizabeth said little, but she seemed to warm up a little and allowed him to fall into step beside her.

When they reunited with Bingley and Jane on the return walk home, the glow of happiness on both their faces made it clear what had taken place. Darcy congratulated Bingley on securing Jane's hand with good will, and Elizabeth seized Jane's hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek, her eyes brimming with tears of happiness.

Immediately on entering the house, Bingley disappeared into Mr. Bennet's study and emerged a short while later beaming. The household was thrown into rapture at the news, and in the tumult, Darcy finally found a quiet moment alone with Elizabeth in the hallway. At the tender smile of happiness she wore on her face, he felt his heart thump painfully in his breast and he seized her hand.

"Miss Elizabeth, I must know. Are you angry with me? Have I done something to offend you?"

Elizabeth looked up at Darcy. She was so happy for Jane that her anger at his slighting of her at the Netherfield ball suddenly seemed ridiculously petty. She smiled saucily, "No, indeed, Mr. Darcy. At least not recently. Not since you pointed out the flaws in my interpretation of Cordelia's motivation in _King Lear_. In any case, I am prepared to make peace, as a wedding present to your friend and my sister so that they may be spared our bickering. We may be friends again."

 _Friends_. He felt a stab of frustration. However, it was better than her being angry at him. He smiled and responded: "That will be a relief for Bingley. No matter how much I assure him that it is perfectly possible for two people to vehemently disagree and yet remain eminently cordial, he inevitably worries that it signals a quarrel. In this it appears that he is a good match for your sister."

Elizabeth laughed and acknowledged Darcy's reading of Jane. Suddenly they were talking again. They discussed the fine weather, Bingley, Jane and _King Lear_ , only avoiding discussion of the Netherfield ball. This was when Darcy made the suggestion about reading poetry.

"That is an interesting idea. How will we choose what poetry to read?" Elizabeth asked.

"We can each choose our favourites," said Darcy. He added hastily, "Although of course we will stick to subject matter that is appropriate for a young lady."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "You need not have a fear of _my_ sensibilities, Mr. Darcy. I have read very widely. My father believes that 'a little learning is a dangerous thing'[1] and has not sought to constrain my pursuit of knowledge."

Darcy smiled at her naiveté. No matter how well-read Elizabeth considered herself to be, she was still raised as a lady, and therefore could have had no experience with the much more salacious material - and experiences - that were open to men only.

* * *

The next two weeks were happy ones. Everyone at Longbourn was in a good mood, even Mr. Bennet, who had emerged from his library to go shooting with his future son-in-law and his closest friend.

Starved of encouragement or even acquiescence, Lydia and Kitty had turned their noisy attentions from Darcy back to the officers and teasing Bingley for further balls. Mary looked forward to more use of the instrument at Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet was so involved in engagement parties and collecting the envious good wishes of the neighbourhood that she left off teasing Elizabeth about Darcy. In any case, she had determined that Darcy could not be interested in Elizabeth when he had stood up with her only once at the Netherfield ball, compared with the two dances he danced with each of Lydia and Miss Russell.

Darcy and Elizabeth read Milton's _Paradise Lost_ and discussed the significance of meter in conveying meaning. They read Sir Walter Raleigh and laughed at the nymph's saucy reply to the shepherd. Their old camaraderie that had existed prior to the Netherfield ball had returned in full, but Elizabeth did not find it as satisfying as before.

Late one night, after the Bennets had entertained the neighbourhood, Jane and Elizabeth were sitting in Elizabeth's room for a final sisterly chat before bed. They were a little more silent than usual, one too dreamy to be attentive, the other lost in thought at the interactions of the evening. Suddenly, Jane burst out:

"Oh Lizzy! I am so happy! If I could but see _you_ as happy!"

"Oh! Jane. I am so happy for you. Do not think I am not. Even though I will miss you dreadfully! But at least you will remain close by."

"Lizzy, I must ask you a question, an important question. Although I will understand if you prefer not to give me an answer."

"Jane, this is being serious indeed. The occasion does not warrant such seriousness. I do promise I _shall_ be civil to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. I shall _not_ tip the soup into their laps when next we dine together. No matter how accidental I can make it appear."

"Lizzy." Jane gave her a chiding smile at her joke.

"My apologies, Jane. Proceed, then. What is your question?"

"All right. It is this. Do you care for Mr. Darcy? Or do you think you could learn to?"

Elizabeth blushed but was silent.

Jane continued apologetically, "It is only that Charles believes Mr. Darcy may have feelings for you and he does not know whether to encourage him or not. I know how much you disliked him, but that appears to be long forgotten. Still, you always insist that you are only friends with Mr. Darcy."

"What makes Mr. Bingley think Mr. Darcy has feelings for me, Jane? Has he said so?"

"Not in so many words, according to Charles. It is only a suspicion on his part."

"Oh Jane!" Elizabeth wailed, dropping all pretense. "I cannot tell. I cannot tell what he feels. He is always so proper."

"So you _do_ have feelings for Mr. Darcy."

"Yes," Elizabeth admitted. "But I do not think he can return them. He only danced with me once at Netherfield."

"But you said he asked you for a second dance but you had already given it away."

"We-ell, yes. But by then the ball was half over and he did not ask again. Would not a man who wished to secure his partner have acted earlier? Or tried again? Mr. Bingley pestered you for dances well in advance of the ball. And Mr. Darcy danced twice with others."

"With Lydia," Jane smiled. "I think it is fairly clear that Mr. Darcy has no interest in Lydia. It is more likely that Lydia put him in a position where he could not refuse without giving offense."

"Not only Lydia."

"Perhaps he danced twice with Miss Russell for the same reason," Jane said gently. "Charles mentioned that he and Mr. Darcy have gone shooting at Sir Theodore Russell's estate in Essex, but he makes no mention of visiting Miss Russell."

"Perhaps," said Elizabeth, slightly mollified. "But Jane, I will not have feelings for a man who does not have feelings for me."

"Dear Lizzy. You must not worry. If it is meant to be, it will happen. You must be patient."

After Jane departed and Elizabeth was alone in bed, she thought over her sister's words. It was all very well for Jane to preach patience, she thought. Jane was patience itself. But Elizabeth knew she was decidedly _not_ patient. She liked to make things happen! She smiled to herself in the dark. Was there anything she could she do in this case to make things happen?

* * *

If Elizabeth was not patient, Darcy was. He was also methodical and analytical. And according to his analysis of the situation, his greatest risk lay in rushing Elizabeth. He knew by this time that _his_ affections were fully engaged. What he could not tell was the degree of regard on _her_ side. Judging from her behaviour at the ball, she did not enjoy his company any more than that of some of the officers. If her heart was touched by his, it was but lightly.

Luckily, he reflected, he now enjoyed the upper hand in securing her affections. The union of Bingley and Jane granted him all the time he wished for. There would be engagement dinners, balls and house parties to look forward to. In such case, situations of intimacy were inevitable. He trusted that time and patience would allow him to conquer all that remained unsubdued of her heart.

He could not believe that at one time he had mistaken his Elizabeth's sweet and lively natural disposition as an attempt to seduce him. No, Darcy concluded. Elizabeth must be innocent of heart and mind as well as body. The greatest danger lay in a precipitous declaration that might frighten her off the enterprise altogether.

It was a very good thing that she could not see his real thoughts, he thought to himself with rueful amusement. Although Darcy knew his intentions were entirely honourable, he was unable to fully constrain the imaginings of his mind as she sat there reciting elevating lines in her pure, clear voice.

At this time, Darcy learnt exactly the power of poetry. Nothing expressed the powerful emotions that filled his thoughts so well as the lines of extravagant love and desire of the greatest love poets. He spent hours combing the offerings of Netherfield's library for verses and began assembling his own private collection of his favourite poems, many of them too racy to be shared with Elizabeth.

As it turned out, the best offerings were found in one of his own books, which he had brought with him from Pemberley for study and forgotten about. It was a small volume containing several hundred Greek verses dealing with a variety of subjects. Near the back of the book was a section of erotic verses, some so explicit he felt himself blushing with shame even when alone.

He thanked God that the verses were all in the original Greek, with no translation whatsoever. Once he had been foolish enough to carry the book with him to Longbourn and was horrified to learn that it had dropped out of his pocket. He had spent a nervous night worried that Mr. Bennet might find it, and that Mr. Bennet might know enough of the language to decipher a few phrases.

Instead, Elizabeth had greeted him in the hall on his next visit to tell him she had found his book. He was just recovering his composure when she asked him to read the verse where he had marked his place. He felt a cold chill. The poem he had marked was unfit for a lady's ears. Translated from the Greek, it said:

 _I can't bear to watch your hips  
_ _as you walk away  
_ _Untie me!  
_ _Your thin dress leaves you  
_ _nearly naked. You tease  
_ _and tease.  
_ _But one suggestion:  
_ _dress me, too, in gauze  
_ _so you can see the shadow of my erection._ [2]

No, it would not do to read Elizabeth _that_.

"I am not certain of the pronunciation," he lied, for he had taken a first in Greek at Cambridge.

"What does that signify, Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, smiling sweetly. "I am sure your Greek cannot help but be superior to mine, since as a woman I would not have had the opportunity for formal study like you. I only wish to hear what a foreign language sounds like aloud, and then perhaps you can explain it to me."

There was no way he could recite such a lyric to Elizabeth, even if she could not understand it. Instead, he recited her the lines from a love poem by Asklepiados, still daring but at least not obscene. He then translated and explained the beautiful images of the poet:

 _Think how unspeakably sweet  
_ _the taste of snow in midsummer,  
_ _how sweet a kind spring breeze  
_ _after the gales of winter._

 _But as we all discover  
_ _nothing's quite as sweet  
_ _as one large cloak  
_ _wrapped around two lovers._ [3]

He thought that Elizabeth looked slightly disappointed, and he wished she could understand the words in the original Greek, when she said, "Are you sure that is what it says?"

"That is generally what it says, although I cannot promise that my translation is exact."

"I was just wondering … I do not pretend to be an expert in Greek, but the number of lines do not seem to match up."

God, she was clever, he thought. He lied again: "You are correct, Miss Elizabeth, but some languages are like that. The Greek alphabet translates into more syllables than English, and hence the lines spoken will not exactly correspond."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful, but did not press him further. They finished the day reading William Wordsworth's poems about the countryside near Darcy's estate in Derbyshire and he enjoyed her rapt attention as he told her about the majestic mountains and dramatic waterfalls and wild woods that had formed the backdrop of his childhood.

"You would like it, I think," he said. "You seem to enjoy rambling in the outdoors."

"Yes, it sounds beautiful. Mr. Wordsworth has made everybody wish to visit the Lakes. My aunt and uncle talk of it too."

"They should definitely come. They would pass very close by Pemberley on the way. Perhaps you could show it to them."

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide in surprise, and Darcy mentally berated himself for being too precipitate. "Er ... I mean, if you happen to accompany them. I would be delighted to receive you all."

"That would be lovely," she said politely. "I am sure we would all be pleased to see Pemberley, as we would the home of any friend."

Darcy nodded, half-relieved and half-disappointed at her reaction and Elizabeth lapsed into thoughtfulness again. When it was time for him to take his leave of her, she suddenly announced, "I have an idea."

"I am ready to hear it," he said, sitting back down.

"Let us make this more interesting. I propose a contest. Let us pick a theme. Each of us will have to find the poem that best expresses that theme and bring it to the next reading. We will then see whose selection is the superior one."

"Who will be the judge?"

"We will be our own judges. It will be clear whose poem is superior," she added pertly.

"Oh, really?" He smiled. "We shall see about that. What is the theme?"

"What do you suggest? It should be something fairly easy, which is written about frequently, so we have lots of choices."

He said, feeling daring, "Well, there is always the obvious - love."

"Love it is, Mr. Darcy. Let us see if your love poem will best mine. Until tomorrow then."

* * *

Darcy spent the night combing anthologies of poetry. He already had a few selections in mind, but wanted to make sure that he had not missed anything. He narrowed it down to five options, then finally opted for Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, _Let me not to the marriage of true minds_. He knew it was not the most original choice, but to him it captured the purest love and admiration a man could feel for a woman, what he felt for Elizabeth. It also lacked any hint of the coarse elements that could offend her maiden sensibilities.

She greeted him the next day in his favourite gown, a warm rose colour that brought out the creaminess of her skin and highlighted the dark brows and eyelashes of her remarkable eyes. She had never looked lovelier.

When he made to follow Bingley into the drawing room where the ladies were assembled, Elizabeth stayed him with a touch of her hand on his sleeve.

"Let us go into the library," she whispered. "My father is out visiting so we will not disturb him. And given today's subject matter, I would not want my mother to misconstrue our intentions."

Darcy smiled inwardly at her innocence. He knew his intentions were all that Mrs. Bennet hoped, it was Elizabeth's feelings he was unsure of. At the first sign that she viewed him as more than a friend, he intended to open the idea of a courtship with her. He hoped that would be today, after he read her Sonnet 116.

They sat side by side on the long couch in Mr. Bennet's library, their bodies turned towards each other, their knees just inches apart. The library was silent, except the sound of their breathing and the birds outside. Darcy allowed himself the fleeting fantasy of pulling her to him and kissing her, but forced himself to focus. Such a forward move might frighten her and set them back weeks.

"Do you mind reading your selection first?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not at all. I believe that is where we started in Netherfield's library that day. I always go first, it seems." He opened his volume of Shakespeare and recited:

 _Let me not to the marriage of true minds_ _  
_ _Admit impediments. Love is not love_ _  
_ _Which alters when it alteration finds,_ _  
_ _Or bends with the remover to remove:_ _  
_ _O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,_ _  
_ _That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;_ _  
_ _It is the star to every wandering bark,_ _  
_ _Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._ _  
_ _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_ _  
_ _Within his bending sickle's compass come;_ _  
_ _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_ _  
_ _But bears it out even to the edge of doom._ _  
_ _If this be error and upon me proved,_ _  
_ _I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

He gazed into her eyes as he read the poem, and her eyes did not drop from his, although her cheeks flushed becomingly and her lips parted. Their faces were inches apart. He could not help it; he leant in for a kiss, but at the last moment Elizabeth pulled back.

"Wait," she said breathlessly. "It is my turn."

Darcy sat up straight and cleared his throat. Under the disappointment at the lost moment, he felt a sense of elation. She had felt something, he knew it. He smiled at her tenderly, eager to hear what she would select.

"My poem is by Andrew Marvell. _To His Coy Mistress_."

Darcy's eyes flew to her face in shock. That poem? Surely not! It was not a poem for any respectable woman to read, much less a young lady. It was not even about love in Darcy's opinion; its purpose was clear and that purpose was blatant seduction. Darcy knew it well. At Cambridge, many an underclassman had been passed the poem by an older mentor as a means to overwhelm the virtue of a reluctant lady, and stained and well-thumbed copies circulated freely. Marvell's poem went by many nicknames, but George Wickham's had stuck and everybody had used it since, _The Closer_ _._ As Wickham would say, if the lady was prevaricating over her virtue, this was the poem that sealed the deal. And now his dearest, loveliest, innocent Elizabeth was reading it to him.

 _Had we but world enough and time,_ _  
_ _This coyness, lady, were no crime._ _  
_ _We would sit down, and think which way_ _  
_ _To walk, and pass our long love's day._

Darcy watched in fascination as Elizabeth's lips moved, her sweet voice clear and unhurried.

 _But at my back I always hear_ _  
_ _Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;_ _  
_ _And yonder all before us lie_ _  
_ _Deserts of vast eternity._ _  
_ _Thy beauty shall no more be found;_ _  
_ _Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound_ _  
_ _My echoing song; then worms shall try_ _  
_ _That long-preserved virginity,_ _  
_ _And your quaint honour turn to dust,_ _  
_ _And into ashes all my lust;_

Was Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, really telling him about her lust? Did a maiden even _have_ lust? What did she mean by it? What _could_ she mean by it? The meaning was unmistakeable, as was the look kindled in her eye. But she could not … could she?

 _Now therefore, while the youthful hue_ _  
_ _Sits on thy skin like morning dew,_ _  
_ _And while thy willing soul transpires_ _  
_ _At every pore with instant fires,_ _  
_ _Now let us sport us while we may,_ _  
_ _And now, like amorous birds of prey,_ _  
_ _Let us roll all our strength and all_ _  
_ _Our sweetness up into one ball,_ _  
_ _And tear our pleasures with rough strife_ _  
_ _Through the iron gates of life:_

Oh god! If that was not an invitation, what was?

 _Thus, though we cannot make our sun_ _  
_ _Stand still, yet we will make him run._

Darcy felt dizzy and realised he had been holding his breath. He let it out with a whoosh, looked down and saw that his state of arousal was readily apparent, and quickly turned his body away from Elizabeth, crossing one leg over the other. She appeared not to notice, and was innocently thumbing through her book.

"I love that poem," she said. "The language is so very inventive, the imagery so original and yet so apt. The juxtaposition of sweetness and willingness with the images of "birds of prey" and "rough strife" and "tearing" through the gates - it captures the violence and tenderness of passionate love both. Would you not agree?"

Darcy made an inarticulate noise in his throat, his mind absolutely blank. She took it as assent and said, smiling teasingly, "So, Mr. Darcy, are you prepared to concede the field? Have I picked the best love poem of all? Oh!" Her face changed to concern, "Mr. Darcy, are you all right? You do look pale." She rose and leant over him with concern, giving him an eyeful of her breasts, which did nothing to help matters.

"I am fine," he choked. "I am … it is hot in here, that is all. Perhaps I need some air."

"Yes, it is rather stuffy in the library in the afternoons. The windows let in so much sunlight. We had best go out. Would you like to turn the pages for me while I play? I do not hear Mary so the pianoforte must be free."

She pulled him to his feet and at the touch of her small, soft hand in his, he felt another wave of desire. Somehow they made it to the pianoforte, where she pushed him down to sit on the wide bench, then sat down next to him and began to play and sing.

The next half an hour was the most exquisite agony he had ever experienced. His body was keyed to a fever pitch. They said almost nothing. Their knees touched and she did not remove hers; her sleeve continually brushed his; and she made neither movement nor protest as he leant in to breathe the intoxicating scent of her skin and watch the swell of her breasts every time she took a breath. Gentleman or no gentleman, he had doubts that Elizabeth would have left the room with her virtue intact if her mother and sisters had not been in view in the next room.

He had no recollection of how he and Bingley returned to Netherfield, nor what he said to Bingley on the way. By the time they achieved the house, he was in such a haze of lust that he brushed past the servant waiting to take his coat and hat and took the stairs three at a time to his private bedchamber, where he slammed and locked his door and shouted to his valet that he did not need his assistance that night.

* * *

The next morning, spent and calmer, Darcy considered the possibility that he had misread the situation. Could he be making the same mistake as before? Could Elizabeth be that innocent that she had not understood the nature of the poem, had not noticed the effect of her nearness on him? Surely she was feeling _something_ , even if she did not fully understand it.

Darcy eagerly looked forward to speaking to Elizabeth the next day to gauge her reaction. To his disappointment and frustration, they had no opportunity to speak alone. She greeted him calmly, and suggested that they next compare poems of political satire. His attempts at gallantry or flirtation were met with no verbal response. And yet she continued to torment him with her physical proximity, touching his arm and giving him the opportunity to stand close enough that he could look down her dress, could reach out and touch the soft curls that nestled erotically on her lovely white neck.

On the third day after the episode at the pianoforte, the entire Bennet family was due to dine at Netherfield. Darcy decided that he would declare himself that night, whether to Elizabeth or, if he could not find a moment with her, her father. His patience and nerves had stretched to breaking point and he could take it no longer.

At the table, Elizabeth was seated across from him. Throughout the meal, his eyes kept returning to her face, trying to catch her eye, but she avoided his, instead chatting with good humour with her mother on wedding preparations. Finally, the talk turned to something else besides fripperies, when Bingley told Mr. Bennet what a pleasure it was to have seen more of him in recent days.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley, you have chosen a most convenient time to marry one of my daughters. If I was still in the middle of my translation project, I would have been indisposed and you would have had to solicit Mrs. Bennet for Jane's hand."

Mr. Bennet continued, "Speaking of which, Lizzy, if Mr. Darcy can spare you from your poetry readings, I need you to look over my translations. The metaphors are tricky in some of the Greek verses, and I want to know if you think I have captured the nuances."

Darcy, lost in reverie at the sight of Elizabeth's lips as she sipped her tea, suddenly jerked his head up and stared at Mr. Bennet, then Elizabeth as she answered her father.

"Of course, Papa, I would be delighted to assist you. You may wish to consider asking Mr. Darcy too. He seems to have an excellent grasp of Greek metaphor and imagery. Although sometimes," her lips twitched, "I am not so sure about his translation."

Darcy turned white and then red. She had known! She had known, all this time, about his lust and desire for her. The Marvell poem, the pianoforte, all of the inadvertent touches and revealing gestures over the last few days. She had been toying with him, with _him_ , Fitzwilliam Darcy, the master of Pemberley. He felt outraged at this assault to his dignity, then a dawning elation as he realised what it meant. _She wants me._

Elizabeth's face was pink with suppressed laughter, her smile hidden behind a napkin. This was replaced by uncertainty as she watched the emotions pass Darcy's face. Darcy briefly considered allowing her to partake of some of his uncertainty and torment, but dismissed it quickly. She was so maddening, so delightful, so dear. He grinned at her, raked her person with his eyes, then met her eyes again, causing her to blush deeply.

He said something that satisfied Mr. Bennet, but kept his eyes on Elizabeth. Their eyes continued to meet through the remainder of supper, hers laughing, his conveying his kindled passion. After supper, just as the gentlemen parted from the ladies, he heard Elizabeth mention to her mother that she wished to look for a book in the library. He did not miss the inviting glance she threw his way as she departed.

In the hallway, Darcy lost little time in excusing himself, then hurried to the library. He flung open the door and looked around. Where was she? Ah, there, behind the stack.

He walked stealthily around the corner and saw her, balanced on a stool, her skirts gathered in one hand to reveal her pretty feet and ankles and an enticing bit of calf as she reached up for a book.

"Allow me, Miss Bennet," Darcy said.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy!" She scooted off the stool and tried to escape but he trapped her with her back against the shelf, his arms on either side of her.

"Mr. Darcy, this is so … forward of you," she said demurely, her eyelashes drooping down, although Darcy could see the smile hovering on her lips.

"I believe we have things we need to discuss, Miss Bennet," he said, positioning his body so it was almost but not quite touching hers.

She looked up at him and smiled impishly. "Is this the part where you tell me how ardently you admire and love me?"

"I believe I may say something of that nature." He smiled at her rakishly. "Is this the part where you allow me to kiss you?"

"No."

" _No?!_ "

He had already leant in for a kiss. At her denial, he jerked his head back and looked at her.

"Mr. Darcy, did you not once impress upon me the need to delay gratification in order to augment your pleasure?" She played with the ends of his cravat. "I would by no means wish to minimise any pleasure of -"

His mouth on hers stopped her ability to speak. He pulled her against him and felt every nerve in his body scream with joy and relief. Her lips were soft; her skin unbearably so. She smelled faintly of peaches and honeysuckle; tasted like snow in midsummer; made him feel like a fine May morning, when all of Pemberley lay before him like a jewel in his willing clasp.

He kissed her more deeply and she did not resist. Dimly through the meeting of lips and tongues, the growing ache of his body, he felt her tug at his cravat and slip it off, then slide one hand around his neck and the other into his hair, pulling him down to her. He pulled her tighter, and she pressed herself against him. The feel of her body against his, its firmness and softness, its pliancy and activity, was undoing him. With difficulty and trembling hands, he pushed himself away from her.

"I am sorry. Forgive me," he whispered.

"It is all right," she whispered back, smiling, although looking a little uncertain.

They stood gazing at each other, both shaky and breathing quickly.

Darcy pulled her closer again but gently this time. He lowered his forehead to hers and looked deeply into her eyes. "Will you marry me, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy." Her eyes were shining like stars.

"My first name is Fitzwilliam."

"Yes, Fitzwilliam." She smiled shyly at him. "How long have you loved me?"

"Almost from the first moment I saw you," he said earnestly.

"Almost but not quite. Was I not only _tolerable_ but not handsome enough to tempt you?" She dimpled at him.

Darcy smiled. "Elizabeth. No woman, no matter how beautiful, is more than _tolerable_ until you know she has improved her mind through extensive reading."

She laughed delightedly. "Well said, sir! We will pretend that is what you were _really_ thinking."

He smiled roguishly. "I do not think it is appropriate for you to know what I am _really_ thinking."

She laughed again, and pulled his head down to whisper in his ear. He flushed and smiled at her.

"You are terrible, Elizabeth. You will be the death of me."

"Then I hope it will be only a _little_ death.[4]

He shook with laughter at her double entendre. "Depend upon it, there will be _multiple_ little deaths."

And he kissed her again.

* * *

[1] Alexander Pope

[2] Marcus Argentarius, ca. 60 BCE, beautifully translated by Sam Hamill, _The Erotic Spirit_

[3] Asklepiados, ca. 320 BCE, translated by Sam Hamill, _The Erotic Spirit_

[4] La petit mort = orgasm


End file.
